


Subterfuge

by MercurySkies



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Comedy, Drama, Drama & Romance, Espionage, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Victor, Spy Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: He's a perfect spy.He's just not perfect atbeinga spy.Viktor Nikiforov is the Organisation's best spy despite having a penchant for breaking the rules almost as quickly as they can make new ones. Espionage doesn't need a rule book right?Eros plays the game by the book which is exactly why he's assigned as Viktor's handler when hot shots at the Organisation decide Viktor's antics put him at risk of going rogue. What happens when a simple assignment starts to spiral out of control and has stealing a Porsche really ruffled so many feathers?"Of course it's not like I haven't stopped World War Three at least seven times by now." Chris sniffs."Espionage isn't a pissing contest." Viktor replies."It might as well be. Then you'd be better at it."





	1. The devil finds work for idle hands

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome one and all to a slightly ridiculous and irreverent spy AU featuring guns, seduction, fast cars, existential dread and puns galore! I'm very excited to embark on this new espionage filled adventure. I have been dying to write a spy AU after seeing all of the wonderful works around spy and mafia AUs. Unfortunately I am completely incapable of weaving the beautiful serious masterpieces that other writers are. So you have my twist on the spy AU, full of love, betrayal, martinis, satin dresses and lingerie, guns and blood, washing machine jokes and walk in freezer related puns.
> 
> An immeasurable amount of thanks to my pal, my enabler and one true muse [Rockatanskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskies)

The double doors swing shut behind him and he adjusts the platinum cufflinks at his wrists, rolls his shoulders back. Graceful hands swipe a champagne flute from a passing waiter. There’s a dead body in the catering freezer. It’ll be a couple of hours before anyone finds it and it’s been a good party, he deserves to sample the champagne while he can. He looks to his left and sees Chris emerge from the identical set of double doors on the other side of the rooftop terrace. “Targets neutralised” he hears in his ear as Chris accepts a canapé from a rather nervous looking waiter. “Alright.” Georgi says, “fall back, exit’s waiting.”

“Gotcha” Chris replies, shoving the entire canapé rather inelegantly into his mouth as he turns back to the door. He glances at Viktor and raises an eyebrow. Viktor grins, tapping his ear and slipping a hand nonchalantly into the pocket of his pants, his comms device successfully ‘on hold’. Chris shakes his head, breathing out a chuckle that Viktor can no longer hear before heading through the door to catch the helicopter that is no doubt waiting for them several stories above them.

 

The party is elegant but the music is loud and there are quite a few bored looking models clearly paid to be there and a sprinkling of escorts considerably better at acting like they enjoy the company they’re keeping. Strangely, they’re better dressed too. Viktor is on his way to the bar to get himself something a little stronger than the sweet champagne when the nervous waiter unceremoniously crashes into him. His third favourite suit jacket is covered in champagne and the waiter is pawing at his chest, terrified and babbling apologies with frantic eyes. It looks like someone’s been drinking on the job. They’re starting to attract attention. “Not to worry!” He attempts to placate the man with a sincere smile but he continues to blush and stammer. So much for enjoying the party, the attention is a concern, he has to leave to avoid potentially being compromised.

 

He takes the tottering waiter by the arm and says more for the assembling crowd’s benefit than his. “Would you mind assisting me somewhere I could freshen up?” He all but drags the waiter through the double doors, through a winding corridor and into a back room, void of any staff. He shucks off his sodden jacket and tie and undoes the buttons of his collar. “I’m s-so sorry sir, I didn’t mean- I mean I wasn’t I-” the waiter stutters out and if he wasn’t trying to figure out how to leave the party without drawing any more unnecessary attention to himself Viktor would find the time to reassure him. His mumbling is endearing, a waiter entirely too distracting. He can see him better now, isolated from the commotion and in the brighter light of the storage room. The man is strikingly handsome in an unassuming sort of way, dark hair slicked back and eyes a warm, syrupy brown. There’s a delightful rosy blush dusted across his cheeks and the sweep of his long, dark lashes is captivating. Viktor may be on the clock but he is far from immune to pretty boys and this one is blinking blearily up at him, shaking like a leaf and so close he can feel the heat of him.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks softly because he is _weak_ to this and if anyone else saw him now they’d think him a disgrace to the entire institution of espionage. “Y-Yuuri.” He stutters out in reply and Viktor can’t resist tilting his head up with a hand underneath his chin. Yuuri fidgets and trips, stumbling into him but Viktor catches him with a hand pressed to his hip. Yuuri’s hands brace against his chest, deft fingers fussing with his collar when Viktor doesn’t let him go. “Well Yuuri,” he says, his voice low, a lascivious drawl, lips brushing the shell of his ear. He hears Yuuri’s breath hitch and takes it as his cue to press Yuuri against the glass door of one of the freezers “we’ll say no more about your... indiscretions.” He leans in so ready to hear Yuuri sigh against him as he kisses him breathless. He can feel his breath on his lips when Yuuri’s eyes dart from blinking up at him to staring over his shoulder, wide and horrified. Viktor follows his gaze. “Oh, for fuck sake.” Somehow, he’s ended up with a beautiful boy pressed against him, in a backroom that just so happens to house the freezer Viktor had stored the target he’d asphyxiated a mere thirty minutes prior. He’s blown his own cover by having a reaction that is by no means normal for someone that’s just been confronted with a dead body.

 

He turns back to look at Yuuri briefly wondering why the screaming hasn’t started. He’s still just staring, and Viktor is really kicking himself. Just when he was starting to actually enjoy himself. Yuuri’s lips part and Viktor silences him the only way he particularly wants to. He crushes their lips together, harsh and quick but it’s enough when he’s not immediately pushed away. He pulls back, pushing a stray lock of hair back from a dazed Yuuri’s forehead, too gentle, too tender. “Sorry sweetheart.” He says morose. He is more than disappointed. “But it seems like our little tryst has been put on ice.” He kisses Yuuri’s pale cheek and runs, fishing his comms device from his pocket and politely requesting another helicopter. He receives nothing but radio silence. He steals a Porsche instead.

 

* * *

 

They won't let him keep the Porsche. He’s disappointed but he can’t really blame them.

“Your audacity continues to astound me!” Yakov says, voice hoarse. He is red in the face, knuckles white where they’re pressed against the glass of the desk he’s stood behind. Viktor has been sat in his office back at headquarters for about an hour, sufficiently chastised for attempting to play hooky but that isn’t stopping Yakov as he continues to rave about professionalism and that “international espionage isn’t a game Vitya” or “this is exactly why we’ve trialed having a handler in the field with you.”

“I’m sorry what?” Viktor starts, almost falling from where he was leaning back on his chair.

“This isn’t a game, are you even listening Vitya? I won’t -”

“No- I mean yes I’m listening but what was that about a handler in the field?” Viktor says with gritted teeth.

 

“We’ve had a handler in the field on a number of operations. Including this one, we have him to thank for your exit.” Yakov replies and if Viktor knew him well, which he in fact does, he’d say he was smirking. “Eros, please join us.” The foreboding doors to Yakov’s office slide open and a man enters, dressed in light blue jeans and a baggy, grey cable knit sweater. Warm, brown eyes, framed by blue glasses that avoid Viktor’s own.

“Fuck. I’m a shit spy.” Viktor breathes, inelegant and irreverent. Eros’ lips twitch slightly before he schools his expression into something more neutral. “You said it.” Yakov says and Viktor is vaguely aware that everyone on staff probably knows about the incident in the storage room now. Viktor lost the ability to feel embarrassed a long time ago, but this stings. He thinks of the sweet blush on Yuuri’s cheeks that night, how his eyes had enamoured him to the point where he’d forgotten where he’d hidden a damn corpse. Yuuri might not even be his real name.

 

Viktor really must be a shit spy because Yakov finally stops yelling and takes a seat across from him, he traps him under his scrutinising gaze and Viktor shuffles slightly in his seat, giving himself away. Whatever Yakov finds softens him a little, and Viktor hates it a little every time he’s anything but the formidable director Viktor is comfortable with him being. “Anyway, I thought I’d formally introduce you. Eros will be accompanying you for the foreseeable future.” Viktor nods, stands.

“Agape.” Eros says with a subtle nod as he shakes his hand.

“ _Eros_.” He replies with only a hint of bitterness. He knows it’s uncalled for but Viktor is petty, he has never been the emotionless organisation agent they’ve wanted him to be. Eros doesn’t even flinch just nods once more and leaves once he’s been dismissed.

 

When the doors slide shut behind him, Viktor turns and raises an eyebrow at Yakov.

“Don’t look at me like that Vitya.” He says with a grunt; his face is ashen and drawn and Viktor has to stamp down on the concern he feels as a result. “This is out of my control. The powers that be have spoken. They think you need to be put back in check. They think you'll go rogue.” Viktor hums, propping his hip against the desk. “And what do you think?” he says, like he cares, like it even matters. “Vitya-” Yakov starts “I think you’re the best agent the Organisation has ever seen. But they don’t just care about results. What matters to them is their reputation, efficiency, discretion, not seducing random waiters against catering freezers housing dead targets.” Viktor huffs out a laugh in spite of himself.

“I’m never gonna live that down. That will be my legacy.” Viktor heaves a put-upon sigh.

 

“Honestly I thought you’d be angry.” Yakov adds.

“I am, in a way.” Viktor says pleasantly and he senses there’s little else business to discuss so he stands to leave.

“I meant-” Yakov adjusts, rolling his eyes as Viktor slides open the door to his office, not even waiting to be officially dismissed “I thought you’d make a scene.” Viktor smiles over his shoulder.

“I won’t if you let me keep the Porsche.” He says and slides the doors shut behind him before Yakov can argue.

 

He decides he’ll give them a week to give him the Porsche before he starts to be difficult.

 

* * *

 

He feels eyes on him as he saunters into the command centre, three cups of coffee in hand and a smile that sits bright and charming on his face, though Viktor and maybe Chris are the only people privy to the fact it's entirely fake. It’s been three days since his meeting with Yakov and he’s less enraged and more just mildly irritated by the whole situation. He spots Eros leaning against Phichit’s desk and his mouth goes a little dry. He looks entirely different to how he had looked in Yakov’s office, dark hair slicked back and a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Eros’ reputation precedes him although Viktor had never even seen the man before they’d been introduced, let alone worked alongside him. He supposes his appearance in Yakov’s office should’ve surprised him more than his current attire, considering it is well known that Eros’ M.O. is seduction. Viktor takes a quick gulp of his cup of coffee, the hot liquid burning as he swallows but he steadfastly refuses to wince. One of the other cups contains coffee just how Eros likes it, information Viktor had bizarrely obtained from his personnel file, why exactly their preferences for hot beverages need to be recorded and how the hell the person compiling them all knows in the first place is beyond him. He’s thankful for it nevertheless as a perfectly brewed cup of coffee works as an apology and as a means of sweetening up the man who could be making his life a living hell for the foreseeable future.

 

“Eros! You look dashing as ever!” Viktor chimes as he sidles up next to the pair. He frowns at him but accepts the cup regardless.

“He just got back.” Phichit replies, his usual sunny self. Why oh why hadn’t they assigned him to accompany him in the field, Phichit himself has an eye for mischief, Viktor has no doubt they would work together well even if he’d have to put up with some glaring and assorted threats on his life by Seung-gil Lee, Phichit’s previously assigned agent before he was moved to Eros and now, by extension Viktor. “At this time? Burning the midnight oil?” He winks, he already knows of course, privy to information he’s not technically supposed to be privy to.

“I was working.” Is all he adds, attention turned to his cup of coffee and Victor can’t look away as his eyes lower, eyelashes shadowing slightly pink cheeks as he takes a sip. Eros doesn’t comment on how it’s exactly to his liking, leaving Viktor strangely disappointed.

 

Viktor shifts his weight anxiously, taking a long sip of his own scalding coffee to feign nonchalance. When Eros turns from him to rifle through a series of the standard brown intel folders Viktor attempts to lean a hip against the desk and crane his neck to sneak a peek. Eros sighs, slamming a manila envelope on top of the now semi neat pile of papers. “Can I help you, _Agape_?” He huffs and Viktor smirks, trying to mask his surprise at Eros’ terseness. “I was just wondering if there’s any news about our new assignment?” He says hands raised in surrender. “What’s with the codename? I know _Storge_ over here knows my real name.” Phichit rolls his eyes.

“Eros just likes to keep things strictly professional, _Viktor_.” Phichit says, sipping his coffee and humming with pleasure. “And he’s the boss on this one, I’m just your eyes from HQ”

“So Storge has been relegated to stooge.” Viktor says smiling. Phichit laughs good naturedly but shoves him away when Eros frowns at them both, gesturing for him to get going. “Yeah and this stooge will have the unpleasant task of making your life a living hell if you fuck up.” He says as Viktor backs away, looking not at all like he finds the idea of tormenting Viktor even remotely terrible. “You’re benched until we notify you of a briefing, higher ups’ orders.”

“When did espionage become little league?” He asks chuckling.

“When you became the oldest spy in the game, old man.” Phichit calls. Viktor flips him off as affectionately as you possibly can. He knew he and Phichit would get along well. He’s not even their oldest agent but he’s been around since the organisation’s inception.

 

The failed attempt at sweetening up Eros stings a little, even amongst other organisation agents his charm has served him well but it seemed to do nothing but irritate him. He grits his teeth, it feels like rejection but he refuses to entertain such thoughts. He shakes himself of the feeling, sauntering down the familiar hallways of headquarters aimlessly. He still can’t believe wanting to join a party for maybe an hour and attempting to seduce his handler was the tipping point to put him on watch. Even so the knowledge that he’s essentially been suspended from field work makes him feel restless. Useless and empty, with nothing to occupy his idle mind he becomes acutely aware of what little else he has apart from his job. He can’t bother Chris, likely out on an assignment driving a fast car and wearing a fancy suit. Viktor’s favourite things. He can’t even play with his beloved poodle Makkachin. Yakov looks after her most of the time, with Viktor dealing with one assignment after another he rarely has time to return to the penthouse apartment he keeps on the other side of the city so she is entrusted into Yakov’s care. He’s currently on vacation, something about his blood pressure.

 

The devil finds work for idle hands however, and as Viktor continues to walk the busy halls of headquarters he has an idea. It hasn’t been a week but Viktor doesn’t know why he should miss out on Chris’ fun of careening around the streets in a fast car when there’s a perfectly serviceable Porsche waiting in the garage. He slips a set of keys from his pocket as he all but skips toward the stairwell that will take him to the least frequented entrance to the garage. He might be a shit spy but he’s at least good enough (or bad enough, he isn’t entirely sure anymore) to steal the same car twice.

 


	2. No Rest for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mention of previous minor character death, dangerous driving mention.
> 
> Chapter 2! Apologies for the wait, most of this story is outlined and a lot of the following chapters are partly written so do not fear this WIP is one I will conquer. Thank you for your comments on the previous chapter it's really increased my love for this story. Keep a look out for a neat little nod to a famous art thief courtesy of [Rockatanskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskies) and enjoy!

“I can’t believe you crashed a Spyder 918.” Chris says laughing, a confusing mixture of mirth and concern painted on his Greek god-like features. Viktor’s closest friend Christophe Giacometti, otherwise known as Ludus, has always been a sight to behold and Viktor has beheld him entirely nude on more than one occasion. Chris is a lot like Viktor in the way that he much prefers the perks of the job rather than the work itself. Shooting people is a chore; driving fast cars, wearing fancy suits and eating fine food are what he’s really in it for. And the sex of course, although not as frequent as some might think. Viktor is privy to all the details to both his delight and chagrin.

 

“I didn’t crash it, I just dented it, there’s a difference.” Viktor huffs petulantly. He pouts as he sips at his coffee, his feet tapping anxiously as he waits for Yuuri and Phichit to arrive for a briefing. He glares at Chris as he rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, it’ll buff right out, the bonnet looks like an _accordion_ Vitya. I’m surprised you weren’t hurt, what were you thinking?” Chris says, the closest to admonishing Viktor’s ever heard him get. “I just- lost control, I don’t know.” Viktor replies quietly. His shoulders and lower back still ache in protest of whatever mistake or lapse in judgement caused the car to fishtail on a deserted highway and careen off the road. He was lucky to have walked away, so they say anyway. It was lucky he had chosen a deserted road. He may occasionally kill people for a pay cheque but never civilians, not if he can help it.

 

Chris sighs. “I know we have the whole maverick thing going for us but even I wouldn’t pull the stunt you did, not even now that Elias isn’t with me.” Viktor takes one look at Chris’ sad but amused smile and feels guilt gnaw its way through his stomach and claw all the way up his ribcage to his throat where it stays lodged, a sharp flint that hurts every time he tries to swallow. It’s been three years since Elias’ death but it’ll stay with them forever. A routine mission had gone horribly wrong, he’d bled out in Viktor’s arms. Chris was devastated and Viktor was a mess of guilt and grief, so much so that Chris took to begging him to pull it together, afraid that he’d lose his best friend as well as his lover. It made Viktor feel selfish, unworthy of Chris’ friendship that even through his own grief he had found the strength to help him. Eventually, they dealt with it together, supporting each other. He knows the amused concern is Chris’ attempted at supporting him now.

 

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says, means it, feels it in the burning churn of his stomach. He doesn’t think the guilt will ever leave him, not really. Chris tuts, slipping off his glasses and wiping the lenses needlessly on the expensive looking cashmere cardigan he wears. “You’re forgiven.” He says, green eyes twinkling. He’s always had Chris’ forgiveness, both now and then. He’s never even needed to ask for it.

 

“Besides it’s not as if I haven’t crashed my fair share of cars-”

“Or blown up your fair share of buildings.” Chris hits him on the back of the head for that and Viktor flinches away from him frantically flattening his hair. Chris rolls his eyes, again, and considering the frequency he does so whenever he’s in Viktor’s presence he’s surprised they’re yet to just roll straight out of his head. “Of course.” Chris begins sarcastically. “It's not like I haven't stopped World War Three at least seven times by now." Chris sniffs, pretending to be offended by Viktor’s words.

"Espionage isn't a pissing contest." Viktor replies.

"It might as well be. Then you'd be better at it." Chris fires back barely holding back his laughter as Viktor gapes at him stuck somewhere between shock and complete indignation.

 

Viktor isn’t a bad spy per say. In fact, he can be quite meticulous, fulfilling every detail of a brief, minimising casualties, clean and precise. Viktor is well known throughout the Organisation not because his sometimes reckless and impulsive behaviour can land him in hot water but because his record speaks for itself. The majority of the other agents have seen him at least once in some sort of combat training, his skill and power obvious, his aim with a gun impeccable. The opinions of the handlers are less flattering but no one can argue that Viktor doesn’t get the job done, despite the fact he’s prone to deviate from their strict instruction. He’s respected, revered even, his indiscretions mainly just passed off as a quirk of his roguish charm. Eros appears to be an exception, an embarrassing one at that as Viktor’s mistake, as honest and as innocent as it was, does not fit with his somewhat impish persona.

 

Chris must notice his train of thought as his grin turns wolfish. “Attempting to seduce the infamous Eros. A prime example of your ineptitude. An admirable pursuit though, even if it was doomed to fail.” He winks at him and Viktor stares back, scrutinising his smug expression.

“You knew!” He gasps feeling his face heat in further embarrassment. “Why didn’t you tell me!” Chris’ laugh is raucous drawing the attention of passing colleagues as he almost bends over double on the sofa they’re waiting on outside one of the Organisation’s many meeting rooms. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance to.” Chris says in his defence and it’s true that Viktor had been much more preoccupied by joining the party than Eros playing the bumbling waiter, at least at first.

 

“How?” Viktor demands, standing up and starting to pace up and down the hallway.

“Because I’m a better spy than you.” Chris rapidly replies already laughing by the time Viktor stops and slowly turns to face him.

 

“What’s so funny?” Another voice sounds and soon enough Eros and Phichit stride around the corner. Eros is smirking at Chris, eyes bright and amused and Viktor feels a bitter pang of something sharp in his chest as Chris pulls him into a brief hug. _Traitor_ , he thinks as Chris winks at him from over Eros’ shoulder. “Good to see you Ludus.” Eros says, voice genuine and smile soft. Viktor is briefly distracted by Phichit’s eyes on him, evidently trying to stifle a laugh. In response he looks away from them all, attempting to fix his hair and readjusting the cuffs of his shirt, the lay of its collar. “It’s a pleasure to see you, _Eros_.” Chris purrs and Viktor rolls his eyes at how obvious he’s being. If the great Eros hadn’t fallen for his charms then Chris’ blatant flattery and seduction wasn’t likely to work either. He steels himself and turns back around only to be confronted by the bright blush on Eros’ cheeks.

 

Eros seems to notice him then and the change is immediate, he stands up straighter, chin tilted upward almost haughtily. Viktor barely represses a sigh. “Agape.” He nods in greeting.

“Shall we?” Viktor gestures for the rest of them to lead the way. Chris smirks back at him to which Viktor responds by mouthing a quick ‘I hate you’ before they take their seats at the small briefing table.

 

“Phichit has most of the details, he’ll be overseeing the operation from here.” Eros says as he moves to sit next to Viktor leaving Phichit standing at the front of the room, skilfully pulling up window after window of relevant information, including a very intricate looking PowerPoint presentation on the large LED screen. “Chris you’re here because...” Eros asks but doesn’t seem at all perturbed by his presence, merely curious. “Moral support” Chris says grinning at Viktor’s answering scowl “and curiosity. It’s not every day Vitya here gets a field agent as a handler, and the illustrious Eros at that.” Eros flushes a pretty rose colour. Viktor kicks out at Chris’ leg beneath the table. He feels the tip of his oxfords make contact with his shin but Chris doesn’t even flinch, continuing to smile benignly.

 

“Alright enough flirting.” Phichit pipes up with a grin, brandishing a laser pointer. “This is Mr Peruggia,” Phichit wiggles the laser over the image of an Italian man, around mid-forties and greying with a sharp nose and wearing an even sharper suit, “you may recognise him as our local crime boss but recently Peruggia has apparently taken his operations international.” Phichit flicks through a series of photos that appear to show Peruggia meeting with various men in what appears to be a variety of different countries “Peruggia has recently taken up collecting and has purchased an annexe of the city museum to house pieces that range from china and porcelain to art and antiquities.” He flicks through a series of images of the property and showcases an image of an inventory of items supposedly delivered to the premise from various locations overseas. Viktor squints at it, trying to spot any anomalies but from a distance doesn’t notice anything irregular. He leans back in his seat. “So, what are we looking at? I take it this is more than just an expensive hobby, or an illegal side project.”

 

Instead of Phichit, Eros speaks this time, fixing Viktor with a serious gaze. “We have reason to believe he’s embezzling funds from the museum to fund a smuggling venture. The inventory lists dozens of items yet we’ve found no record of any staff designated to catalogue them or conserve them.”

“Great so I go from saving the world to saving someone’s teapot.” Viktor says bitterly but instantly regrets his words when Eros glares at him, dark eyes filled with annoyance. “If you’d been paying proper attention to what we’ve been showing you you’d know that some of these items are of great cultural importance and many of them are worth more than that Spyder 918 you totalled.” Eros’ words are scathing and Viktor has never regretted angering someone so deeply. “You haven’t proven yourself able to be responsible for yourself, that’s why we’re here, let alone responsible for the fate of an entire nation, the entire world.”

 

Viktor flinches, hard. Chris and Phichit both look as though they want to say something but the room descends into an awkward silence. Surprisingly, Eros himself disrupts it by shuffling a pile of papers he has in front of him. “I- um, I’m sorry that was uncalled for.” Eros looks half sheepish and half horrified by his words and quickly continues. “I know of your work, you aren’t- you’re not-” he stutters and stalls and Viktor almost wants to let him suffer just to watch the adorable flush continue to rise in his cheek. “No, you’re right I’m irresponsible.” Viktor says frankly. “I- well yes but you aren’t incapable. You’re very good at what you do.” Eros replies earnestly and Viktor is momentarily stunned by having received a genuine compliment from Eros himself, somebody whom he’d assumed thought he was a complete idiot. “I- well, thank you?” He replies, confused. They stare at each other, wide eyed and unsure of what exactly has just happened. “Eros is just a little anxious.” Phichit’s bright voice chimes in, drawing their focus back to him and his rather impressive, glorified PowerPoint presentation. “He has a mission of his own to handle tomorrow and he’s just a little eager to get the particulars of this one ironed out in advance.”

“No rest for the wicked eh?” Viktor says with a wink, catching Eros so off guard that he blushes to the tips of his ears. His head snaps toward the front of the room and he begins to stare resolutely at Phichit and his enthusiastic laser-pointing.

 

“We think,” Phichit pointedly continues, “that an event celebrating the opening of this collection is a cover for the transfer of most of the items, and the details of their various fences and buyers. We want you to attend the opening to locate the data and bring it back so we can shut down the operation.” The most meticulously curated PowerPoint Viktor has ever seen is complete.

“So, are we talking impersonation or aliases?” Viktor asks and he should have been alerted to something being off when Phichit starts to approach him with a heavily embossed piece of card, likely a forged invitation to the museum opening. He hands it over with nothing short of what most people would consider a shit-eating grin. “Congratulations, Mr and Mr Nikiforov.”

 


	3. Modus Operandi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copious amounts of commas, a gratuitous use of cliches and an indecent reference to some Fabergé eggs.
> 
> Again many thanks to my pal [Rockatanskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskies) for really reassuring me about that Fabergé egg mention. My pal also had a birthday, graduation and engagement recently so consider this absurdity another gift for you!

Yuuri leaves the briefing room, anxiety mounting. Phichit walks beside him, grinning from ear to ear and Yuuri really wants to hit him no matter what his intentions might have been. They walk all the way back to their desks in silence. Yuuri sits, trying in vain to go over the fine details of the solo operation he has to see to tomorrow as Phichit sniggers beside him. “Yep, good one Phichit you really got me there.” Yuuri says flatly as he swivels on his chair to face his so-called best friend. “Oh, come on Yuuri.” Phichit says with a laugh. Yuuri knows he means no harm but the amount of pressure they’re under is beginning to take its toll on him. “It’s the perfect opportunity to confront your massive crush on Viktor.”  
“I do not-!” Yuuri says loudly, causing heads to turn his way. “I don’t have a crush on _Agape_.” He says, quieter this time and Phichit responds with an eye roll.

“Nonsense!” Phichit exclaims. “Your crush can be seen from the other side of the training compound.” Yuuri tries to turn away, feeling the flush rise in his cheeks, but Phichit stops him with a hand on the arm of his office chair. “I’ve seen the way you look at him when you’re both there for combat training, when he’s all sweaty and kicking the shit out of some poor sparring partner.” Phichit waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Yuuri once again has to resist the urge to smack him.

 

“Wow you’re really living up to your codename today aren’t you Storge?” Yuuri replies sarcastically but Phichit remains undeterred, eyes shining with pure glee. “I am indeed.” He chirps. “I could find out if he’s single, dig around in his files.”

“No Phichit that’s - that’s an invasion of privacy.” Yuuri stutters even though a treacherous part of him would very much like to know.

“An invasion of- Yuuri you’re a _spy_. Invading people’s privacy is how you make a living sweetheart.” Phichit says exasperated. “Besides I compile the damn things so I already know.”

“Know what?” Yuuri asks, trying to feign nonchalance but Phichit, his trusted handler, sees right through his attempt at trickery.

“That he is _very_ single and, if your first night on the job was anything to go by, oh so _painfully_ interested.”

 

Yuuri flushes, remembering vividly the sharp cut of Viktor’s suit that night, how he’d let the evening play out just a little longer than necessary, had been the one to all but steer them to the room Yuuri knew Viktor had hidden that target. He’d drawn it out just a little longer, hoping. Then Viktor kissed him, brief but it had stolen his breath. One simple kiss that tasted like longing. There had been something in his eyes as he’d fled but Yuuri had refused to dwell on it. It was their job, seduce and be seduced when the situation called for it. Eros had struck again and with Viktor on his way back to his high-rise apartment on the other side of town, albeit in a stolen car, the mission was complete. Evidently, something had only just begun.

 

“You’ve forgotten why we’re in this situation in the first place.” Yuuri hisses, shaking his head. Phichit had put their names forward the moment he’d caught wind that the Organisation higher-ups wanted a handler in the field with Viktor, an unusual request, but Phichit and Yuuri had become increasingly familiar with the unusual goings on at the Organisation and an opportunity to get close to Viktor Nikiforov was not one to be missed. Phichit rolls his eyes. “No, I haven’t. You know this is a perfect opportunity for you to get close to him and see what he knows. He’s a potential target and whoever’s responsible may be inclined to get in contact considering your new position. We planned this remember?” Yuuri looks around furtively. “Yes, I remember, it was my idea. Keep your voice down, no one is supposed to know.”

 

“No one’s supposed to know what?” A low voice sends shivers up Yuuri’s spine and he freezes. He knows that voice, he knows that if he turns around he’ll be met with the most mesmerising blue eyes and an infuriatingly sweet smile. “That Yuuri is an excellent pole dancer.” Phichit chirps. “Oh definitely.” Another voice, Chris’ this time comments, quickly followed by a strange gurgling noise. Yuuri slowly turns around to find Viktor, forearms resting on the low, dividing wall of their office space, silver hair completely concealing his face as he hangs his head. Yuuri looks quizzically to Chris who simply smiles as if the whole exchange has been the most fun he’s had in months. He pats Viktor consolingly on the back before slinking away with a parting wink.

 

Viktor slowly lifts his head but instead of being met by the charming grin Yuuri has come to expect, his smile looks almost embarrassed. There is a flush high on his cheeks and his hair looks to be in disarray as if he’s been running his hands through it. As Yuuri has a chance to look closer he notices dark shadows beneath his eyes and he immediately feels guilt gnaw at him for how he’d treated him at the briefing. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly and feels his own cheeks warm as Viktor’s gaze meets his own and his smile settles into something softer, warmer.

“I’m fine,” he says softly, “just- you never fail to surprise me.”

 

* * *

 

To Viktor’s credit it takes Yuuri about an hour to notice that he’s somehow managed to infiltrate the gala he’s attending. Yuuri knows for a fact that Viktor isn’t invited and neither is Yuuri technically but his presence sets him on edge even though the sight of Viktor in an expertly tailored suit is never one Yuuri likes to miss. He just hopes that Viktor’s presence doesn’t complicate things. Yuuri is here in an attempt to get closer to one of the Organisation’s directors and, considering Viktor’s current position, if he’s seen with him it could throw a pretty big spanner in the works. More than anything Viktor’s presence makes him nervous. Viktor has never seen Yuuri in action, at least not officially, and he would’ve preferred the first time to be on their legitimate assignment and not while Yuuri was doing something strictly off the record.

 

He makes his way toward the champagne, the skirt of his red, satin gown somewhat carving a path for him, keeping the rest of the guests at a comfortable distance whilst also drawing some of their gazes. Hiding in plain sight has always been his preferred method, his MO and he’s known for seducing his targets rather than pummelling them into submission and _God_ , do they submit. There is an illicit thrill to watching them crumble in front of him though he’d never admit it. He’s simply very good at his job and the little kick he gets out of it just about makes the deception and danger worth it.

 

Yuuri has no idea why Viktor is here though he suspects it has something to do with Viktor’s apparent inability to do what he’s told and his penchant for being in places he probably shouldn’t. He makes the mistake of making eye contact with him from across the room and the grin Yuuri receives makes his heart stutter. He starts moving toward him and Yuuri curses the fact he’s somehow managed to trap himself between the champagne table and a wall of other guests. He loses sight of him and it sets him even more on edge that even though he knows he’s here, he can’t even keep track of his movements.

 

“ _Eros_ ” A low voice says, breath whispering across his neck and Yuuri suppresses a shiver.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here _Agape_?” He replies through gritted teeth and Yuuri doesn’t dare turn around and face him. “I could ask the same of you.” Viktor laughs, but it’s without malice. “To think they assigned you to me because they say you play by the rules. We have more in common than I originally thought, including our taste in gowns, you look stunning by the way.”

“Thank you.” Is all Yuuri elects to say. There is a brief touch to his elbow as Viktor steps forward into his eyeline. They both stand in silence, glancing at each other in between sipping at their champagne. Yuuri can feel his eyes on him more often than not and it makes him want to fidget, push back his hair or smooth out the already immaculate satin of his dress. “Sorry.” Viktor says quietly, looking shamefaced. “I overheard you talking to Phichit and couldn’t resist a chance to see you in action before I get to pretend to be your incredibly lucky trophy husband.” That makes Yuuri snort and Viktor’s answering smile is soft and amused. “Of course, knowing that I’m not here on official Organisation business didn’t pique your interest at all.” Yuuri replies wryly turning ever so slightly toward him as Viktor seems to gravitate closer. Viktor hums in response. “I’m of an inquisitive nature.” He says eyes so blue under the lowlights of the opulent ballroom. The world seems to narrow until it contains just the two of them, a teasing back and forth that steals Yuuri’s breath, as he’s well and truly side-tracked by Viktor’s impulsivity and tenacity. “Curiosity did kill the cat, _Vitya_.” Yuuri all but purrs, his brain screaming at him to stay composed and keep his distance but Viktor’s reaction makes his head swim. His lips part and blue eyes darken ever so slightly as Yuuri utters not just his name but a nickname at that, for the first time. “But satisfaction bought it back.”

 

Suddenly movement to their right catches Yuuri’s attention. It appears the reason for his illicit adventure has finally made an appearance. He excuses himself and prays that Viktor will merely observe and not too closely.

 

* * *

 

Viktor careens around the corner of what he thought was a deserted hallway. A little too much champagne had led to him being a little more than lax with his cover, a major faux pas and considering he has no concrete idea of who’s gala this is outside of the usual, very dangerous, suspects it was even more of a mistake. He starts down the hallway but slows when he notices another figure, standing hunched by a very elegant looking door. Closer inspection reveals it to be Eros, trying to jimmy open the lock whilst battling against the vastness of his dress that appears to be preventing him from getting close enough. He briefly contemplates just watching him struggle, the adorable crease of frustration between his brows making him feel warm and fuzzy a happy addition to the hum of alcohol in his veins. He is however, very away that he’s seconds from being exposed.

 

“Let me hide under your skirt.” Viktor whispers as soon as he’s within earshot and Eros is quite lucky he's asking for permission at this point considering he's about 10 seconds away from being discovered as an armed gate crasher to an invitation only event that is likely hosted by high profile members of a crime syndicate. “What-” but before Eros can choke out a reply Viktor is falling to his knees and yanking up the skirt and hoop of his dress and awkwardly manoeuvring himself underneath the ample skirt. A security guard Viktor had spotted Eros fluttering his lashes at earlier rounds the corner looking like Christmas has just come early. Meanwhile Viktor resists the urge to snap a very tempting looking garter. “Looking for me?” The guard asks, pinning Eros against the wall and causing him to stumble a little. The man’s arrogance ticks Viktor off but he refuses to acknowledge the bitter taste of jealousy that burns in his throat. The man’s arrogance seems to annoy Eros too as Viktor half emerges from his hiding spot to press the barrel of his gun against the man’s dick it appears Eros has the barrel of his (though where he was keeping it Viktor has no idea), aimed right between the man’s eyes.

 

“No.” Is all he says before the security guard backs away and makes a swift exit, hands hovering near his junk. Viktor snaps the garter. Eros lets out a squeak, hoisting up the skirt of his dress and kicking Viktor until he scoots out from his safe haven. That's how they're found seconds later by a few wayward guests, with Viktor on his knees in front of a flustered looking Eros skirts pulled up to his waist. “Oh my _God_.” He chokes out, and Viktor had no idea the famous Eros could get so embarrassed. Though he guesses the scandalous Eros is unlikely to ever be caught in the compromising positions he must inevitably find himself in. “My my my Eros, I didn't take you for an exhibitionist.” Viktor says as he gets to his feet, he uncurls Eros’ fingers from the fabric of his skirts and they fall to the floor once more, not a wrinkle to be seen in the flawless red satin. He takes Eros’ hand in his own as the other brushes back a stray tendril of hair “though I must say I did enjoy the show... and you have excellent taste in lingerie.” He hears a familiar click and pulls back to see a devastating smirk on Eros’ face. Viktor looks down to see Yuuri has his gunned pointed right at his Fabergé eggs. “Touché.”

 

“I would ask you to return the favour but this really isn’t the time or the place.” Eros flirts back slowly moving his gun from where it was aimed directly at Viktor’s crown jewels. “Need a hand?” Viktor asks, hands raised in surrender as he nods toward the door.

“Yes please.” He replies simply and Viktor immediately works on unlocking the door while Eros shifts away to keep watch. It takes several minutes of muttering and quiet curses in his native tongue before he hears the distinct click of the mechanism signifying he’s been successful. Yet his quiet yelp of triumph is silenced as Eros grabs his wrist and all but hauls him to his feet and against him. His hand flies out to brace himself against the wall by Eros’ head as he yanks him down into a kiss with a hand in his hair.

 

Viktor subsequently ascends to a higher plane of consciousness and can’t help but let out a startled moan, hand slipping against Eros’ satin wrapped waist as his fingers tighten in his hair. Eros kisses him thoroughly, lips plush and fervent and when he nips at Viktor’s own, begging for entrance he can’t help but lean into him, pressing him against the wooden panelled wall behind him in an attempt to keep himself upright. Eros lets out a little huff through his nose that devolves into the quietest whimper, so quiet that Viktor almost thinks he must be imagining it. Just as he falls into his stride, becoming bold enough to let his hand at Eros’ waist wander, Eros pulls back wincing slightly as his head hits the wall behind him.

 

“Sorry.” He says quietly, both his hands now resting on Viktor’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. “Someone was coming. A little making out always does the trick.” Viktor just blinks at him, disappointment sinking in his stomach.

“Yeah.” He says voice hoarse. “Of course.” He shoves a hand in his pocket and runs his fingers through his hair, stepping back. He nods toward the door. “All yours. I’ll wait.” He says, and Eros gives him a small smile as he slips inside the newly opened door.

 

Viktor paces as he waits, fingertips occasionally drifting up to touch his lips. This is bad. This is what he’d feared since he’d discovered the beautiful man he’d kissed in that store room was the infamous Eros. Eros seems to know, intuitively, his every weakness and Viktor doesn’t even know his real name. He considers it both a blessing and a curse that he’ll be pretending to be his husband in a few days’ time. He resolves to shrug it off, this is just business, they have to work together and be professional. Mixing business and pleasure has never really worked out well for him anyway.

 

Soon enough the door opposite him swings open and Eros steps out looking pale. “Everything okay?” He asks and Eros simply nods.

“Let’s go.” He adds taking Viktor’s arm and they make their way through the gala toward the exit, smiling and pretending to be a smitten couple going home together for the night. They play the part seamlessly until they’re in the back of a taxi hailed down from the curb a few streets away. Eros all but deflates, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes as Viktor gives the driver an address somewhat close to the apartment he owns on the other side of the city. After that words fail him and he simply stares, watching the bright lights of the city pass, fingertips pressed to his lips all the while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone give our Vitya a stiff drink and a dark room to lay down in.


	4. Dirty Laundry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooh boy! How's everyone doin'? You drinking enough water? Taking some breaks? Reading other fics that actually have a consistent update schedule?
> 
> Sorry folks but I'm an adult that has to do adult things and I've also never before written about a character wielding a gun in my life so this one took a while.
> 
> Warnings: guns, blood, injuries, mentions of human trafficking, I mean probably murder, death, ya know spy stuff.

Viktor twists the gold band on his finger anxiously. A matching ring adorns Eros’ finger and Viktor feels his eyes inexplicably drawn to it. Eros was slightly less than pleased about his well-intentioned gate-crashing but they haven’t wasted any time on discussing what had happened. As soon as Viktor had made it into the car Eros was running him through the state of play. They were to be the perfect loved-up newlyweds with Eros playing Viktor’s new husband Yuuri. It's almost cruel that he’s using the same name as the one he used the night they met but he assumes it must be some form of payback for being forced to take his last name. The mission is to be simple and relatively quick, infiltrate the archive room, get out with the information on the fences and buyers with minimal casualties. Eros had handed him his wedding ring with a solemnity that made his stomach twist. It just never did sit right, to have to pretend to be so happy.

 

“I think I’ll just regale them with stories from our honeymoon while you do all the work” Viktor says trying to keep his smile relaxed and bright. To Viktor’s surprise Eros, or _Yuuri_ , smiles reaching for his hand as the car pulls to a halt. “Mmm sounds like our honeymoon alright.” His smile is soft and teasing, such a dramatic difference that Viktor can see distinctly where the line between Eros and his persona for the night falls. Except nothing about _Yuuri_ feels fake and Viktor didn’t expect Eros being so good at his job to hurt so much. Their driver opens the car door and they both crawl out. Viktor’s smile is besotted as he wraps an arm around Eros’ waist and leads them both toward the entrance. They hand the woman at the door their invitations and it never fails to send Viktor’s heart racing every time, it’s his own name on the heavily embossed piece of card but he suddenly worries if he’s playing his role convincingly enough. He presses a kiss to Yuuri’s temple and feels him flinch almost imperceptibly as the woman waves them through the imposing double doors with a bright smile.

 

The first thing that strikes him is that there are relatively few other guests and the artefacts are even sparser. Directly to their left stands one of several pedestals that are spread out around the exhibition space. It displays an ornate teapot with matching tea cups, the white porcelain adorned with gold filigree protected by a glass case. Viktor realises he’s screwed if any other guest decides to strike up a conversation with him about the items on display as he had no idea why any of them are worth smuggling beyond their obvious beauty. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.” He whispers into Eros’ ear. He snorts, and it makes Viktor pull him ever so slightly closer, the hand at his waist squeezing gently. Eros turns in his arms and he’s thankfully not angry at him for not doing his homework, he merely looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you do your research, to prepare?”

“I thought it’d be much more convincing if I played the adoring trophy husband.” Viktor says offhandedly, and he delights as Eros’ face lights up with laughter. “So, you did and you didn’t.” He says softly, glancing over their shoulders to check if they’re being watched.

“I’ve always been a sort of style over substance kind of spy.” Viktor replies and flushes with warmth as Eros’ hand comes to rest on his chest. Eros hums his agreement, momentarily distracted by the lapel of Viktor’s suit jacket.

 

Eventually they make their way toward a table of champagne flutes and help themselves. At a glance there appears to be about only a dozen guests, a little thin on the ground for any new exhibit but not surprising considering the whole thing is just a facade to cover the transportation of the items. What strikes them as more odd is that there seems to be a surplus of staff, all looking slightly nervous and never approaching any guests to welcome them or offer canapes or more champagne. Mr Peruggia and company are either so sure they won’t be caught and have gotten cocky or there’s something else at play. It sets Viktor’s heart racing and, by the way Eros seems to intermittently drop his persona for a couple of seconds to scrutinise the room, the staff, the guests, _everything_ , something doesn’t quite sit right with him either. Viktor sets them swaying slightly to the string quartet playing quietly in a distant corner, taking the opportunity to speak closer to Eros’ ear. He shivers as he pulls him closer, a feeling echoed by Eros’ frame as one of his hands wends its way up to rest at the nape of his neck, playing idly with the silver hair there.

 

“Something’s off, we should check in with Phichit.” He whispers. Eros’ frame shakes slightly with fake giggles, the juxtaposition stark as he smiles besotted, through his reply. “Not yet, we’ll have a better idea of the state of play once we get into the archive room.” Viktor leans down to press a quick kiss to his jaw, they’re being watched, might as well give them something to gawp at. Eros makes a show of swatting him away though the hitch to his breath is unmistakable making Viktor wonder how Eros can be so adept at faking even the most minute of details. “Viktor!” He chastises, with a gasp, he entwines their fingers and pulls him toward a glass case containing a large, jade-coloured vase “Look! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.” Viktor replies softly, wrapping his arms around him from behind. He can smell the crisp, apple scent of his shampoo and indulges for just a moment, rests his cheek against the raven crop of Eros’ hair and pretends. Christ, he must be lonelier than even he or Chris thought.

 

“Ahh young love.” A voice says fondly causing them to turn. Mr Peruggia himself greets them, a beautiful woman with dark hair falling in decadent waves on his arm. “I’m Marco Peruggia and this is Sara Crispino.” He says as he shakes their hands. They are, of course, well aware of who their new friends are. Sara is a well-known member of the local authorities that had likely received the same intel as they had at the Organisation. “I’m Yuuri Nikiforov and this is my handsome, new husband Viktor Nikiforov.” He introduces them both and Viktor flushes at the compliment, feigning embarrassment. “ _Yuuri_.” He says quietly, hiding his face slightly in Eros’ shoulder as he wraps an arm around his waist. “Oh, how sweet! Are you newlyweds?” Sara asks, smiling brightly.

“Just back from the honeymoon.” Viktor replies lightly when he manages to find his voice again.

“Where did you go?” Peruggia asks and Viktor panics. Viktor had gotten from how they met to the details of their wedding ceremony in their fake dating history before Eros had finally silenced him. “Ahh Hasetsu, Japan.” _Yuuri_ , replies almost immediately and Viktor tries not to let his surprise show as the conversation continues and Peruggia and Sara ask questions about their shared history, each word out of Yuuri’s mouth is identical to the narrative Viktor had weaved for them. At the time Viktor had rambled on, desperate to fill the silence of the car. Eros had apparently been listening the whole time.

 

Viktor mainly just smiles and nods for the rest of the encounter, adding an embarrassed whine of ‘ _Yuuri_ ’ when he’s so obviously doted on. Eventually the pair move on to greet the rest of their guests and Viktor can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing at the sight of their retreating backs. “Okay?” Eros asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Viktor has never found it hard to maintain his composure in the field before and he feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment in having lost his and in front of Eros of all people. Maybe he really is losing his touch, just like Yuri says. “I’m fine _Yuuri_ ,” he teases in an attempt to mask his unease, “been thinking about our honeymoon, have we?” The line between Eros and Yuuri has blurred beyond recognition and it makes Viktor’s head spin. Eros’ cheeks are tinged with red, but his eyes are dark as he slides a hand across the small of his back. Viktor is suddenly struck at how _good_ at this he is, how the seduction is so real, so seamless as he reels him in with his gaze. “Of course.” He says quietly, “walks along the beach at sunset, soaking in the onsen in the early evening.” His voice washes over him, sultry and sweet like treacle. “And nothing but you, in _my_ bed, _all night_.”

 

Viktor is struggling to breathe. There’s a ringing in his ears that almost drowns out the nagging reminder that he’d called him Yuuri, that this was all part of the show. Eros laces his fingers with Viktor’s and starts tugging him in the direction of the hallway bearing the sign for the bathrooms. Once in the relative seclusion of the corridor he’s startled by the sudden static sounding through his comms device. “Agape? Eros? You there?” Phichit’s voice sounds muffled but he’s audible enough above the distant melody of the string quartet.

“We’re here Storge.” Eros replies as he shuffles down the hallway, past the entrance to the bathrooms. “We’re approaching the archive room now. Have you got eyes on us?”

“Just about.” Phichit replies “We’ve had a few hiccups on our end since you made it inside. Our ears picked up again just as Peruggia approached and we have eyes on you now and ready for most of the archive. Nice work by the way guys, you have me convinced.” Viktor flinches and thankfully Eros doesn’t notice. “Married life is sweet.” Viktor replies wryly and Phichit’s muffled chuckle helps him breathe a little easier. “Sara is here from organised crime, what do we do?”

“Already taken care of.” Phichit says breezily. “She’s standing down and her team are acting as back up considering we’re in a somewhat precarious position.”

“Good, there’s something off here.” Viktor supplies, and he feels silly mentioning it but he’s too on edge to care. “Trust your instincts, we’re right here with you. You know the layout, Eros go ahead and get going.”

 

Eros slips a key card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and slides it into the reader. Gun at the ready he pushes the door open and motions Viktor to take the lead. Guns drawn, they check the room ahead is clear. “This feels a little easy.” Viktor says, voice a whisper as he watches Eros holster his gun and start rummaging around in the various rows of shelving. “We could do with an easy win, then we can finally get that annulment.” He says with a smile, but the words themselves irritate Viktor more than they should. He chooses to stay silent, gritting his teeth. “I mean there are probably worse people to be fake married to.” Eros adds nonchalantly, picking up a teapot and lifting the lid to glance inside before placing it back on the shelf. Viktor turns his back, rifling through the boxes placed precariously on the opposite shelf. They descend into an awkward silence, methodically searching the entire room with nothing but the sound of clinking porcelain and shuffling papers.

 

Viktor’s chest aches, and with the weight of the evening and Eros’ words poisoning him with bitterness, he breaks the silence “Yeah I mean who’d wanna marry me, right?” Viktor jokes, his voice light but expression stony.

“Right!” Eros laughs nervously. “You’re so good at playing the smitten significant other though. I’ll be glad when we’re done here, having to pretend for so long is hard.” Eros’ words cause something to snap within him, like being abruptly awoken from a dream. Eros suddenly seems so far away from him, the smile on his face seems unfamiliar and mocking. Viktor just stares. “Hard” He says harshly. Eros looks at him in confusion.

“Viktor what’s going on?”

“It must be so hard to pretend when someone like you couldn’t possibly be married to someone like me.” Viktor says scathingly, the words tumbling from him before he can think them through. He immediately wants to snatch them back. This is unprofessional. This isn’t about them. This was all pretend, for the sake of the mission, for the sake of doing the job Viktor only seems to be getting worse and worse at. “Of course, it’s hard!” Eros snaps “To pretend you know someone so-so intimately when you barely know them at all.” Viktor knows. It’s true after all. He doesn’t know Eros, only feels like he knows Yuuri, a man that doesn’t exist beyond a story he made up and that Eros has been telling flawlessly. The realisation doesn’t allow the bitterness to abate however, and it freezes his insides, frost settling in his ribcage. Scowling, Eros pushes past him toward the room at the end of a short, dimly lit corridor they have yet to search.

 

Eros marches away and Viktor chases after him, stopping abruptly as Eros stops, his back to him, in front of a half open door. “Has it really been that hard,” Viktor snarls, “to pretend to be in love with me?” His sentence ends abruptly as he nears Yuuri. His arm is stretched out as if to pull him back, but it stays hovering frozen in the air as Viktor finally sees what lies beyond the half open door. It seems it's not just antiquities Mr Peruggia has been smuggling, if he even planned to smuggle them in the first place. No, it’s human beings he’s been smuggling like trinkets. A dozen terrified or blank faces stare back at them in silence.

 

“Shit.” He mutters, mind reeling as Eros continues to stare. “Storge.” Viktor attempts to get through to HQ but hears nothing but static. Panic starts to claw its way through him “Phichit!” He shouts, startling the group, they flinch away when Viktor raises his hands in surrender and apology. Their distress seems to snap Eros out of shock and he belatedly attempts to calm them. Frantic footsteps can be heard in the hallway beyond the archive room. They’ve been gone for too long, they were bound to get suspicious. They were only going to buy that the whole ‘newlyweds have snuck off to fool around in the bathroom’ act for so long.

 

Phichit’s voice sounds in their comms devices clipped and broken through the static. Shouts can be heard from outside as there’s a frantic rush to open the door. “Stay here.” Eros asks the terrified looking crowd and closes the door on them, drawing his gun and taking cover. The door to the archive room slams open, the sound echoing around them, there is nothing but the sound of distant screams and the static in their ears as two armed men enter. Eros takes them out swiftly, precise shots fired amongst the hail of the men’s bullets. “Go, I’ll keep trying to make contact and wait for back up here. Peruggia has probably left, using the chaos to disappear, don’t let him.” Viktor nods, making his way toward the open door and takes cover against the adjacent wall, shots ricochet against the steel frame of the door, one grazing his arm. He leans and shoots, taking out two more men and sprinting to the main hall and crouching behind an overturned podium to reload, the floor strewn with bodies, glass and shards of porcelain.

 

Viktor is very aware that the operation has gone to hell, swears as much to himself as he spots Sara, in a similar position to himself, across the room. The doors have been flung open and staff and guests are attempting to flee. “Phichit we need back up now!” Viktor shouts attempting to be heard over the static in his comms device and the sound of screams and gunfire. “It’s not grandma’s best china they’re smuggling it's human beings. Over a dozen individuals housed in the archive room and we suspect more have been posed as staff. Eros is attempting to hold down the exhibit so no harm comes to them but we’re in desperate need of reinforcements. I’m in pursuit.”

“Heard!” Phichit’s voice can finally be heard over the cacophony of sound and the interference on the comms line. “We’ve sent in organised crime and more of ours are on their way! Eyes on Peruggia leaving via the main entrance!”

 

Viktor skirts the edge of the room, trading shots as Sara attempts to cover him from behind. He makes it to the entrance but not unscathed as a bullet strikes him in the back of his left shoulder. He stumbles down the front steps, out onto the streets in pursuit of Peruggia himself. He can hear approaching sirens in the distance, winces internally. He can see Peruggia taking off on foot and he’s quick to follow. If he had the time he’d be miserable, his lungs burn from lack of air, his shirt is stuck to his back, a mixture of sweat and rain and blood. He slows as Peruggia races down another street, hovering on the corner he attempts to take a shot but the exhaustion makes his hands shake and he misses by a hair. He does however see Peruggia clear as day as he darts into a laundrette. He saunters over trying to stay upright and alert, gun raised and ready as he slides cautiously into the darkened store. He can barely see; the street lights barely reach the rundown neighbourhood laundrette and he has to rely on his hearing.

 

Which apparently isn’t very good as he’s struck in the side of the head and the ringing begins. He’s immediately knocked off balance, stumbling. His assailant somehow manages to grab the crook of his elbow and pulls his arm backwards, knocking the gun from his hand. His back is slammed back against a dryer, the sharp edge cutting into the small of his back. He grits his teeth, trying to gain traction as the man tries to smash his head against the top. He kicks out at an ankle and Peruggia grunts at the sound of a sickening crack, toppling backward as he loses his balance. He falls to the damp floor, the sound of something skittering across the tiles draws Viktor’s attention. His eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness and he can just about make out the silver glint of his handgun on the floor by the dryer next to him. He scrambles for it and Peruggia grabs at him. Viktor kicks him in the face as he reaches for the gun, heaving in deep breaths. Sudden, white light fills the laundrette for an instant and Viktor sees Peruggia clearly again, face twisted in pain and in fear, arm outstretched toward him for a split second before he pulls the trigger. “Fuck.” He mutters, bending over double and fighting against the dizziness.

 

* * *

 

His comms device comes back online, clear as day again around ten minutes later and he discovers Yuuri is in fact still alive. He gives him his location and tries to look casual as the sirens continue to sound and rays of searchlight fill the store every few seconds. He’s splattered in blood and some of it is his own, but he makes sure the top two buttons of his shirt are open and that his bangs hang just so. “All clear.” He hears Yuuri say for the benefit of Phichit as he appears in the doorway gun raised. He lowers it and sighs when he spots Viktor. “Okay?” Viktor asks unable to hide his concern. “Hit,” Yuuri replies with a small wince, he shrugs his shoulders “just a scrape but it hurt like a bitch.” Viktor nods in sympathy, he has his fair share of scrapes. He suppresses a wince at the angry searing throb of his shoulder.

 

Yuuri moves inside, and he is beautiful even bloody and bruised. He eyes the floor splattered and smeared with blood. “Taken care of?” He asks casually and Viktor nods tilting his chin up “You haven’t stashed them in the home freezer?” He teases and Viktor flushes trying to keep his composure by leaning against the washer and tossing back his bangs. “No.” He replies petulantly as Yuuri continues to smirk at him. His eyes drift from the trail of blood on the floor, to the washer and then back to Viktor. “You didn't...” He huffs out a laugh that he tries to stifle with a gloved hand. “Please tell me you didn't put Peruggia in the machine.”

“I thought it would be best until clean up could get down here. I dunno I just sorta- had a lot of adrenaline...” He mumbles, fiddling with his cuff-links.

 

Yuuri doubles over and laughs and laughs and laughs. The sound is loud and bright, and Viktor is hypnotised by the way it puffs out his pink cheeks and crinkles his sparkling brown eyes. He can barely catch a breath but when he manages it he adds “It looks like his colours have run.” There is a beat of stunned silence before they both break. They grab at each other wheezing and snorting, Yuuri clutches at his waist and he is warm and all he can think is that he never wants this to end. Suddenly the room is bathed in flashing blue and a booming voice echoes from the street outside. “Shit.” Yuuri gasps out between giggles and grabs Viktor’s hand pulling him through the back door. They flee from what most consider a crime scene, laughing all the while they disappear into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Once again shout out to my girl [Rockatanskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskies) who's been helping me out a lot. She has some pretty dank DA and Overwatch fic you should definitely check out if you're into it because she's my friend and she's amazing. Seriously she's not even paying me folks.


	5. Lock and Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor Nikiforov’s illustrious career in espionage - the CliffsNotes version.

The laughing dies down into laboured huffs for breath and vaguely amused wheezing as they make it to Viktor’s safe house. It’s really just an apartment he’s owned since he’s had the means to own property and it’s where he sometimes sleeps but it more frequently lies empty. Yuuri supports his weight as they hobble into the elevator. He can see the pain beginning to cloud Viktor’s eyes and he’s both impressed and disturbed by how much he’s been able to accomplish whilst wounded. He knows it's probably a combination of adrenaline and shock and a white-hot desire to deliver justice personally after what they’d stumbled upon. Still, a stifling sense of concern and panic scratches at the back of his mind as Viktor leans on him heavily. “You okay there?” He says quietly as Viktor slumps against the mirrored wall of the elevator, forehead pressed to the cool glass with a long-suffering sigh. “M-fine. Just need to get patched up, _Eros_ ” He breathes, corners of his mouth attempting to twitch up into a smile.

 

The use of that name sets something twisting in his stomach. Keeping a wall between them when professional courtesy left them both as soon as they’d crossed the museum’s threshold. Viktor is a maze of contradictions but with a clear path that seems to lead straight to the centre of him. The use of his real name, revealing the location of perhaps the only safe space he knows, he’s either used to using vulnerability as a weapon or he has a fucking death wish. It makes Yuuri want to brandish the same kind of boldness, as he stands watching one of the Organisation’s most prized agents pant in pain, breath fogging and smudging the mirror that reflects his pallid face. “It’s Yuuri.” He breathes out in a rush and Viktor snaps to attention. “I’m not playing. We did that already, we’re done.” His tone is bitter, heavy but gives him the distinct feeling he’s attempting to remain calm, steady.

 

“No, it’s... Yuuri _is_ my real name, Phichit thought it’d be funny.”

“ _Sure._ ” Viktor mutters rolling his eyes looking frustrated.

“No.” Yuuri says firmly. “Really.” He makes eye contact and Viktor searches his expression for something, some sign he’s telling the truth, that he can be trusted. The elevator comes to a halt, the doors sliding open with a cheery _ding_ and Viktor slumps back into Yuuri’s arms. He leads them to the door of his apartment letting Yuuri take the keys and turn them in the lock. The door creaks open and Viktor shuffles out of Yuuri’s hold at the threshold, slamming on the light as he stumbles into the living room. He doesn’t stop there, continues down some unknown corridor.

 

“Your safe house can’t be regulation.” Yuuri calls out to him. But nothing about him is regulation, he thinks as he glances nervously around the extravagant apartment. “It’ll give you away.” Yuuri adds. Viktor snorts.

“Will it?” His voice muffled at first before he comes back into the room, eyebrow raised. He shuffles around for a while dragging a bottle of vodka and a glass from one of the kitchen cabinets. He deposits all his items noisily onto the kitchen counter including a well-stocked but well used aluminium first aid box. He heaves himself onto a stool and shrugs out of his sodden jacket and shirt, letting the fabrics pool at his waist and drip onto the floor. All Yuuri can do is watch as he pours a large glass and drinks it quickly, wincing only slightly at the taste. “You don’t want to thin your blood.” He says, and Viktor rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, ignoring the change in topic.

 

“You know the music I own, the clothes I wear, the brand of coffee I drink.” Viktor gestures at the shelves, scattered with ornaments here and there. Closer inspection exposes them as random, catalogue pieces, not one of them appears particularly unique or sentimental. There are no photographs in sight, no keepsakes, no memories. “What does this place actually tell you about me? What does it tell you about my motivations?” He asks clearly expecting an answer. Yuuri takes the bait.

“You’re flighty, flamboyant, spontaneous.”

“Am I now?” Viktor smiles, but his expression is closed, something cold and cautious in narrowed eyes. “Help me out, would you?” He asks, rolling his shoulder and gesturing to the first aid box. Yuuri jumps toward it, hands somewhat unsteady but steady enough. Silence descends as he patches him up, only interrupted by quiet hisses of pain and the clink of a glass. Up close Yuuri can see the scars of old wounds disturbing the smooth skin of Viktor’s broad shoulders and thinks idly about how many times Viktor has had to struggle through doing this alone. Only a handful of scars are clean lines, the work of professionals, the rest are warped, the healing hard won and excruciating.

 

“You’ve seen me work, are you sure that’s quite true?” Viktor says finally as Yuuri starts to step away, wiping his shoulder blade clean of blood. Yuuri has seen him work and read his file, he is Viktor’s handler now after all. He does however, suspect that the file he’d been given wasn’t exactly comprehensive, some of it he didn’t have clearance to access and the rest he thinks has probably been omitted thanks to Yakov’s intervention. Viktor Nikiforov’s illustrious career in espionage - the CliffsNotes version.

 

“Yes and no.” Yuuri replies, and Viktor clenches his jaw.

“Well which is it?” Yuuri curses himself for fidgeting and dropping his gaze. “You wouldn’t know.” Viktor adds, his voice low and quiet. His shoulders drop as he looks away, walking away toward what Yuuri assumes is his bedroom. He doesn’t return for a while, hears the distant sounds of a shower running and frets over whether this is a subtle sign that Viktor wants him to leave. He now becomes acutely aware of his own aches and pain; the adrenaline having begun to leech from his system. He only has a few cuts and bruises, but his skin stings, his chest aching when he sighs out an anxious breath. After what seems like hours of staring into the living room of Viktor’s dim but lavish apartment and the neon lights of the city beyond, he finally returns. He appears in the doorway clad in grey sweats and an equally grey sweater.

 

“Umm you can take a shower.” He says voice pitching up at the end as if in question. Viktor looks so much smaller like this, the larger than life audacity of him suffocated underneath too much soft cotton. There’s no persona here, no need for him to pretend in order to do his job. However, he is still far from open or relaxed, arms crossed, and eyes guarded. “I can help too- I mean to patch you up, help patch you up. If you want.” He all but stutters out and Yuuri is endlessly endeared even if it’s _weird_. You don’t find colleagues _endearing_. _The_ Viktor Nikiforov; human.

 

Yuuri doesn’t get to reply, there’s a brief crackle in the comms device he’d forgotten he was still wearing. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Phichit’s teasing voice sounds and he’s grateful that Viktor had taken his comms out as soon as they’d entered the apartment. Yuuri flushes and he’s glad that Viktor doesn’t know why. “What do you need Phichit?” He asks. Viktor looks at him expectantly, listening intently to the one-sided conversation. “Nothing. Just a quick debriefing.” Phichit says seriously “You two can lay low for the evening and come in tomorrow to discuss the finer details. I just wanted to let you know that the victims are being well looked after and we’ve dealt with what was left of Mr Peruggia.”

“Okay, thanks.” Yuuri replies, short and to the point as he keeps his eyes trained on Viktor.

“Are you guys okay? Is there anything you need?” Phichit asks, more as a friend than their handler and it makes Yuuri’s chest feel tight. He clears his throat. “Is there- are you alright, do you need anything?” Yuuri asks Viktor. Blue eyes widen in surprise, a small smile tilting up the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head. “No, we’re okay.” Yuuri replies, there’s a long pause. “I’m okay.” He adds and Phichit breathes out a sigh.

“Okay. I’ll see you both tomorrow. Good job and good night.” The tell-tale click, signifying that Phichit has signed off for the night, sounds in his ear and Yuuri slips off the device, stowing it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

 

“I think I’ll take that shower now.” He says and Viktor nods, leading the way into the dark apartment beyond.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s makeshift bed isn’t comfortable exactly but it is compared to the countless nights he’s spent in the back seat of cars or on less than sanitary concrete floors. Viktor had tried to offer him his room, the apartment surprisingly lacking an additional bedroom despite its size, but he’d been compelled to turn it down. Sleeping in Viktor’s space felt strangely too intimate, even if the room itself spoke nothing of its owner.

 

He’s on his second hour of staring at the grey, half lit ceiling of the apartment when he hears Viktor open his bedroom door and pad lightly through into the kitchen. He too, has been awake, the light shining from under his door has been clearly visible from Yuuri’s vantage point at the end of a couch. He shifts to watch him, reaching into a cupboard for another glass, staring unseeingly at the tap as he fills it with water. He turns and startles when he meets Yuuri’s gaze, half in shadow. He sighs and just starts talking, making little to no sense in the predawn quiet.

 

“It’s all subterfuge isn’t it? I am the subterfuge. I mean of course we all do it differently, protect ourselves.” Viktor waves a hand dismissively but the other grips and then releases the cold marble of the kitchen island sporadically with pale knuckles. “You just lock it away or act like it never was, glide through the world thinking you’re just a shadow.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’?” Yuuri asks frustrated and off kilter. He’s exhausted, a bone deep tiredness that numbs his mind but makes the rest of his wounded and bruised body ache. He knows Viktor is too, can see it in the dullness of his skin, the shadows beneath his eyes. It feels as though Viktor has dropped his guard but Yuuri doesn’t understand, any of it. He doesn’t understand _him_. Viktor just shakes his head. “We’re only who we say we are. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

A silence descends that makes Yuuri’s skin crawl for only that it feels like Viktor is waiting for him to say something. Viktor stands regal and warm even as his form is rigid with injury, attempting to not let a single small movement hurt him further. He sighs, a disappointed sound that stings Yuuri. “Good night, Yuuri.” He says, his name sounding strange and solemn. He hurries past Yuuri’s small fortification of couch cushions and quilted blankets and returns to his room. Once inside, the door doesn’t quite close for a few tense seconds, but it does eventually. A lock clicks with finality and a few minutes later, the light shining from underneath his door like a beacon goes out too.

 


	6. Confidant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past minor character death (Elias) and grief.

 

Everything aches and for once he wishes he could just take a damn break. Viktor trudges to the unmarked, random assortment of furniture that forms his office, coffee in hand. There are manila envelopes and brown folders full to bursting of intel on this bad guy or that person of interest on his desk but the majority is run of the mill paperwork he hasn’t touched. There’s a variety of desk toys, pen holders and coffee stains adorning the surface of the standard issue desktop as well making it into a haphazard mess. He slumps into his chair, shoulder protesting weakly at the position as he attempts to remember exactly when every mug sized circle appeared on the wood. “Oof if you don’t look like you’ve seen some shit this bright and sunny morning dearest Vitya.” Chris’ voice rings loud and clear next to his left ear. His hands come up to squeeze both of his shoulders and Viktor hisses in pain. Chris, thankfully, pulls his hands away quickly, putting them up in a sign of apology as he crosses in front of him and takes a seat in the chair by Viktor’s desk.

 

“What the fuck happened at the museum?” He asks, eyebrows lowered in concern. “I thought it was supposed to be a quick in and out job?”

“Didn’t we all.” Viktor replies dryly, sitting up slightly and rolling his shoulders back as if he could shake away the residual pain. “Let’s just say they were smuggling a little more than teacups.”

“Drugs?”

“People.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

 

“Are you okay?” Chris asks after a period of heavy silence, green eyes concerned and dark even in the bright fluorescent lighting of their open plan office. For once Viktor thinks about his answer. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the likes of what they discovered at the museum before. He’s seen death and loss and despair time and time again. The experience never gets any less visceral, the copper tang of blood is still nauseating, the lack of humanity tears at your own until you let it go or let it devour you. Morality is just a grey fog to him now. Sure he’s technically a murderer. But they deserve it, right? They’re the bad guys, right? Viktor doesn’t think about whether he’s sure. He doesn’t question his certainty in those statements, it’s either the Organisation or nothing. There is nothing else.

 

“I’m as okay as you’d expect.” He says finally with a sigh, he sips at his coffee, eyes heavy lidded with weariness. Chris nods. They share a look, as long as they dare, and Viktor knows he understands, feels the same. “So what are you doing here then?” Chris says, leaning back in his chair, “You _and_ Eros look like hell, why are you both here? Surely the powers that be would allow you some time out after last night’s calamity.”

“Debrief with Phichit.” He answers simply, shrugging a single shoulder. “Believe me if I thought I’d get away with it I would’ve stayed in bed until Yuuri inevitably got the memo and left.” Viktor immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing as he watches the mischievous glint light up Chris’ gaze. “Wait- you spent the _night_ together?” Chris exclaims, clapping his hands with unadulterated glee. “And you know his name now?”

 

Viktor lets out a long suffering sigh. “Yes- wait what? No. What do you mean? _Did you know?_ ” He says incredulously.

“Using the same alias twice is a little suspicious don’t you think?” Chris replies, smirking over the rim of his mug at him. Viktor resists the urge to slam his head against the wood of his desk. “Of course.” He mutters “and no not like that, he slept on the couch.”

“Seems to me you passed up a golden opportunity.” Chris shrugs.

“I’m not sure, shaken and shot constitutes a gold opportunity to attempt to seduce my colleague.” Viktor huffs, flicking a stray tendril of silver hair from his forehead. “Especially when all of my other attempts have failed so far.” Chris frowns, staring down at the contents of his mug, uncharacteristic concern darkening his features. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” He says quietly and now Viktor is just confused.

 

“I’m getting some mixed signals here.” He says airily. Viktor wouldn’t say that Chris was being unhelpful per say, he was being frustrating, which isn’t necessarily out of character. Chris is being weird, he’s currently nursing a bullet wound and he’s in the process of accepting he has a crush on his extremely attractive but seemingly uninterested partner in crime. Chris, usually unwaveringly supportive has somehow managed to encourage and deter him from aforementioned crush, simultaneously. Viktor is at a loss. He sighs, leaning forward gingerly in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. “Spit it out, _Ludus_.” He says, aiming for teasing but the syllables fall too sharply from his tongue.

“Well you know what they say about mixing business and pleasure.” Chris follows Viktor’s attempt at humour leaning forward and winking conspiratorially. A smile tugs at the corner of Viktor’s mouth but he inevitably calls his bluff. “You’ve never had any qualms about that.” Viktor quips, the words heavy with implication.

“Maybe I should have.” Chris fires back, suddenly serious. He’s not talking about fleeting fancies, a distinct darkness swirls across his gaze like a heavy smoke, darkening his green eyes. He’s talking about Elias, albeit not directly. It’s almost as if he’s trying to forget him, the rare mention of the man vague at best. “Chris, don’t-”

“I’m just saying.” Chris cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s not all fast cars and fumbles in five-star hotel suites.” Viktor rolls his eyes.

“Neither is this job, Chris. I know what I’m getting into.”

“But do you?”

 

That’s the kicker. Viktor’s own thoughts, the same he’d returned to over and over since he’d met Yuuri, parroted back at him as if Chris were his conscience. Sure, there’s probably an entirely different rulebook for dating a spy but only knowing their first name isn’t a great foundation for a lasting relationship. Chris raises an eyebrow at him once more, plainly reading what he was thinking from Viktor’s expression alone. “He’s not like Elias was.” He says softly, tapping Viktor on the knee and drawing his attention back to him. “He’s very secretive.”

“We’re _spies_ Chris.” Viktor replies with a huff of laughter.

 

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief Christophe Giacometti is a very shrewd man, keenly observant and devastatingly handsome. He hasn’t made it this many years in espionage without ample wit and, unlike Viktor, a strong sense of self-preservation. Self-preservation keeps him balanced when he hears whispers at the Organisation, dangerous whispers, utterances that would make saner men rage with self-righteous anger. He stays silent, serene, unmoved and _safe_. Whilst its true Chris has always had a flair for the dramatic, he rarely mixes business and pleasure. Unless of course the situation calls for it.

 

Elias had been the exception to almost every rule Chris had lived his life by, contradicted almost everything he had ever known. His first assigned handler, Elias was a loyal member of the Organisation, dedicated to the cause. More inclined to work in the field he found himself fortunate to work alongside one of the Organisation’s best, positioned well to work his way up, and eventually, as they all aimed for, out. Chris, fresh face, ‘reformed’ con artist and forger, was already making a name for himself, well as much of a name as you’d dare to as a spy. Chris took a liking to Elias almost instantly, his disinterest and dry humour infinitely refreshing after spending much of his early life submerged in saccharine flattery and deceit. They were an exceptional team and an even better match, solidifying their status as a true power couple over hospital bed confessions after an assignment had gone awry.

 

They were in love and awoke every morning in complete disbelief of it. Neither thought they’d ever find anything like it in their line of work, trained in dishonestly, a sense of suspicion ingrained into the core of both of them. It seemed an international espionage organisation provided just the right conditions to cultivate something sustainable, a safe bubble where all they trusted was themselves and each other. Chris placed his life in Elias’ hands every night, there was very little else left to trust him with.

 

Viktor had never doubted them, he had always envied their implicit trust, the closeness he longed for and had since stopped hoping for started to gnaw away within him, a heavy presence aching in his chest. Chris knew of it, always watching his best friend from his peripheral but there was nothing he could do but hope for Viktor’s own miracle.

 

For the briefest moment they had everything they wanted, Elias and him. Eventually, Elias was made a field agent, assigned a handler as Chris was assigned a new one. Chris didn’t begrudge him his new role but God did he _almost_ hate him for it when it got him killed.

 

He’d contemplated trying to leave the Organisation then, but after Elias there was little else he knew and what he did he either couldn’t, or was loathed to go back to it. He felt his loss more acutely than anything else he’d ever lost. Grief made both himself and Viktor reckless, damn near killing themselves in their guilt and their loneliness until they realised they could find solace in each other, just as they had before, and had always done. Chris had absolved Viktor of any blame immediately. Viktor was the last person to see Elias alive and Chris was glad that if it couldn’t be him then at least it was Viktor. He reminded Chris that there was still the rest of his life to live.

 

Now life goes on, yet it is distinctly different, changed by Elias’ absence. Chris keeps tabs on all the agents. Of course he knows Yuuri is Eros’ real name. Elias’ death along with multiple others, has always struck him as vaguely suspicious, whether it be grief or instinct that tells him so, he is still unsure. Ever since, he’s firmly held the belief that one day he’ll unearth something that’ll better explain his death. The easiest morsels of information to obtain are agents’ personal details. Yuuri’s were particularly well hidden. Not unusual in and of itself, but bizarre considering how close he appears to be with his handler Storge who’s name, Phichit Chulanont and the majority of his background was apparently common knowledge. The difference between their chosen levels of secrecy appear more pronounced than just their differences in role would dictate. This innocuous tidbit of information is enough to warrant Chris’ suspicion and attempt to warn Viktor off of falling for a man so reluctant to trust him with even just his first name.

 

Chris is unsure of what is stronger: his distrust or his fear of losing the last person alive he has ever trusted. He feels a distance growing between them, isolating and lonely. Every assignment with Yuuri has altered something in Viktor, his old friend, thrumming with an anxiety that lights him up like a beacon, like a switch has been flipped within him. It shines like happiness, one so hard to look at for how much it reminds him of himself, a reflection in a mirror of years ago. Chris sees himself from six years ago as he watches Viktor recount an evening of playing Yuuri’s trophy husband. He tries not to begrudge him that happiness because Chris remembers it so immensely, intimately, and knows he would trade anything to feel it again. He decides to content himself with this glimpse of it has can see through his dearest friend. With this resolve he offers no further warning but smiles hoping a Yuuri doesn’t block his view.

 

Viktor flicks back the cuff of his shirt to check his watch, eyes widening as he takes in the position of the hands. “Oh how time flies!” Chris drawls, snickering as Viktor’s hands flutter across his desk, frantically collecting and organising a mess of paperwork he likely hasn’t even looked at let alone completed. He almost knocks over his half empty coffee cup twice in the process. Chris picks it up, removing it from the path of what looks more like destruction as Viktor hurriedly attempts to shove everything back into his bag. “Duty calls?” Chris speaks again once Viktor’s frenzy has calmed to be more accurately described as him being in ‘a bit of a tizz’. Viktor lets out a breathless laugh, smile caught somewhere between a manic grin and a grimace. He straightens from where he’d been hunched over his bag and his haphazard desk. “You could say that.” His smile morphs into something calmer, but distinctly less real, practiced like he’s attempting to hide something. Exactly what, Chris doesn’t know, but it's been a long time since Viktor has actively tried to hide something from him and the realisation that he’s doing so now hurts more than he ever thought it had or would.

 

Chris simply smiles back something knowing and easy, even though he feels neither. He is however, a convincing actor, just one of the many reasons why he’s a better spy than Viktor. “Send duty my love then.” He says, waving him away and kicking his feet up onto Viktor’s desk. He doesn’t watch him leave, wending his way through the office toward the elevator. He does listen to the sound of Viktor’s laughter as it fades, drowned out by the din.


	7. The Button Man

“Yuuri.” Phichit hisses, looking frantic. He looks practically wild, not a good look for someone with his job, a job that requires cool calculation and near omniscience. “What?” Yuuri grits out in reply looking equally ruffled, a far cry from the unimposing and put together agent Chris has become accustomed to. He’s currently doing some good old-fashioned eavesdropping, a fruitful pastime for a spy, he can never quite make himself feel guilty about it. It’s pretty much a habit by now, born from necessity and maintained by a love of gossip. Let it be known that Christophe Giacometti _lives_ for the drama.

 

He’s currently hiding out somewhere on the third floor, a floor full of private meeting rooms and offices, a serpentine tributary bookended by unnecessarily elaborate water coolers. He hasn’t quite graduated to stalking yet, that he generally reserves for assignments. He merely found himself there out of sheer boredom, he’d been hoping he’d catch Viktor on his way out of his debrief meeting to tease him about how after the museum debacle he’s more likely to be doing clerical work in a darkened basement of HQ than be given an assignment that would let him see the light of day. Instead, he’d been just about to round the corner when the sound of strained voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.

 

“Don’t shoot the messenger Yuuri but they aren’t happy.” Phichit says worriedly. Chris doesn’t dare peek around the wall providing his cover to get a proper look at his expression, but his tone is enough to go on. Even Chris isn’t a good enough liar to get away with just _happening_ to overhear them both, with absolutely no real reason to be there in the first place he looks more suspicious than both Phichit and Yuuri put together at the moment. That is until Yuuri speaks. “They _are_ the type to hire a hitman and take out a hit on a high-profile spy. They’ve never exactly been rays of sunshine.” He says sharply, and Chris feels as though his heart has stopped. He thinks of hundreds of explanations for those few words, so many that he almost doesn’t hear Phichit respond. “Your stunt at the museum wasn’t enough to placate them this time Yuuri. They want results, or we’ll lose this...”

“What do you want me to do?” Yuuri says desperately, prompting Chris to throw caution to the wind and peek from behind his cover to get a glimpse of him. He’s still too far away to see clearly but Yuuri’s distress is so evident he’s practically shaking with it. “I don’t-” Phichit sighs, frustrated as he runs a rough hand through his hair. He looks a far cry from his usual happy-go-lucky self, even from a distance. “I know you care about him Yuuri, hell even I do, but I don’t have to remind you that this thing is bigger than feelings or us or even Viktor. This is our only option, our one chance. We’ve got to come up with the goods somehow.” Yuuri practically deflates at his words, his posture sinking like he’s willing himself to disappear, to stop existing altogether. He nods, and Chris can pinpoint the exact moment he valiantly resolves to pull himself together again. His breakdown brief but telling. Chris can spot someone sliding on a mask in an instant. The couple he now sees is less Phichit and Yuuri and more Storge and Eros.

 

“They want to meet. Tonight.” Phichit adds, voice so low that Chris can barely hear him. “You can try and buy time then, at least until after your next assignment with Viktor. After that, we have to make a choice." Chris frowns, equal parts confused, and concerned that he may find his suspicions confirmed. Either way it looks as though a good old-fashioned stake out is in order.

 

* * *

 

Viktor all but slams the meeting room door open only to discover he’s apparently not the only one running late. Yuuri and Phichit are nowhere to be seen and he breathes out a sigh of relief that he has some time to compose himself before he has to face them. He catches his reflection in the window and takes a minute to fix his hair, straighten his tie and attempt a smile. He’d hate to let the pair see him looking sloppy and something tells him that looking completely unprofessional is not the way to Yuuri’s heart. He takes a deep breath and circles the dark wood meeting table in the centre of the room, choosing his seat carefully. His mind is abuzz and he’s waiting for it to quiet somehow. His job has never seemed so complicated, involved maybe, but not quite complicated, messy. Something is constantly obscuring his judgement and from his conversation with Chris he knows that ‘something’ is probably Yuuri. The fact that it has even Chris wary is saying something. Something about Yuuri makes Viktor want to know everything about him, a feat that seems monumental with every day that goes by.

 

Currently the only thing that Viktor is sure of is that this crush is dangerous. He let his infatuation obscure his purpose and it had very nearly got them both and several innocent and scared hostages killed. Selfishly, he knows that recklessness also isn’t the way to Yuuri’s heart, so he resolves to get his shit together. When Phichit and Yuuri finally enter he makes a concerted effort to look alert and attentive even as he feels anything but.

 

Yuuri nods in greeting but Phichit, chipper as ever, smiles at him with a bright “Hello!” They quickly run through the debriefing protocol. Phichit fills them in on how the hostages are faring and provides them with a rundown of any new information they’ve managed to gather along with which of Mr Peruggia’s associates they’ve tracked down and apprehended. He asks them how they’re holding up, asks about their wounds and they both reply that they’re doing fine, both physically and mentally. Phichit refers them for the appropriate assessments anyway with a “standard procedure, you understand.”

 

It doesn’t take long before the conversation turns to discussing their next assignment, in preparation for them to begin another stint undercover three days from then. “I promise this assignment really will be textbook, the classic mafia, casino embezzlement scheme guys, you just go in undercover as high rolling honeymooners and-” Viktor rolls his eyes, the joke has gotten old.

 

“Is that really necessary for this assignment?” Viktor interrupts, slightly exasperated.

“Well it’s the easiest cover.” Phichit says simply with a shrug but his smirk is only barely concealed.

“Do you have a problem with it?” Yuuri asks sounding slightly scornful and Viktor frowns, beyond confused.

“I- no of course not.” He says as if it’s obvious. He’s _pretty_ sure it’s obvious. “It’s just that you didn't seem too keen on it last time. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“My comfort has nothing to do with it. The job’s the job.” Yuuri replies sharply and Viktor can’t help but feel he’s missed a memo somewhere on this one. “Oookay.”

“I don’t think anyone here is going to be taking strategy advice from you.” He says in a rush, eyes widening as if he can’t quite believe what he’s just said. “Yuuri...” Phichit breathes out as if he can’t quite believe it either. Viktor flinches, frustrations beginning to bubble over rapidly.

“Why are you-” _doing this_ , he wants to ask but the anger trickles out of him, leaving him hollow. He’s acutely aware of the pain in his shoulder and turns away so Yuuri can’t see him grimace. “If you don’t want to do what we suggest Viktor then you shouldn’t have been so careless. It’s your fault I’m even here.” Viktor has his back to Yuuri but he’s pretty sure Phichit can see every inch of how much Yuuri’s words have stung.

 

“You’re right.” Viktor says simply. “Whatever you think is best. I trust your judgement.” _I trust you_ , he thinks, more words he refuses to speak. He tries to ignore the fact that he clearly trusts Yuuri too much, that he may even trust him with his life. In the face of Yuuri’s harsh remarks he really is starting to wonder if he has a death wish.

 

He brushes past Phichit on his way out. He looks concerned, so Viktor attempts to give him a small smile. Phichit’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest. He’s slipping, he thinks wryly as he makes his way toward somewhere he can clear his head and maybe check on his shoulder. He can’t even control his own emotions yet he’s going to attempt to infiltrate the mafia. Well, good luck to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And for your sweet comments!

**Author's Note:**

> So... What d'you think? Thank you for reading! Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) with any questions!


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